Innocence Lost
by Whackadoo
Summary: In season 10 we meet Cole, a man seeking revenge against Dean for the death of his father when he was a kid. We get a glimpse of what happened back in 2003. This is the whole story, from Dean's POV, as I imagine it. (This was written before we get full disclosure in show...FYI)


**AN: I was encouraged by Travis Aaron Wade fans to write the story behind the death of Cole's father from season 10. This is what I came up with. Hope Travis and his fans like it!  
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>"You loaded with silver?"<p>

"Yup. All set." The younger Winchester snapped the clip into his gun and stowed it in the back of his pants.

"Here. Take this." John said as he handed his son a sheathed knife. "It's silver, in case you find yourself in close combat." Dean took the sheath and pulled the knife out. It was a Bowie knife about ten inches long in the blade. He popped it back into it's sheath and proceeded to attach it to his belt. "You ready for this, Dean?"

"Hell yeah. Let's go gank us some big bad wolves." Dean said with a somewhat sadistic grin on his face.

"This isn't a game, Dean. This is serious. I need to know you're focused and will have my back." John said, trying to temper his son's enthusiasm for the kill into a more focused mission mindset.

"Dad. I will always have your back, man. I'm ready. Are you?" They had been researching this werewolf pack for about two weeks. Singling out the members, watching their movements, and learning their habits. They found their den, as Dean liked to call it, and had cased the joint for the last three days. Dean was more than ready.

John just gave Dean a look that said Dean was on the verge of over stepping his bounds in the father/son relationship. Dean quickly glanced down at the knife he was adjusting on his belt. "Yes. I'm ready. You remember the plan?"

"I go around back, cause a ruckus with the shotgun, forcing them out the front where you pick them off. I'll go through the back and play clean up with any stragglers inside. We meet in the middle."

"Good. Let's go then." John picked up a duffel bag with added ammo, first aid kit, and various other things he deemed possibly necessary. John's gun was held to his leg in a thigh holster and he had a second one in the back of his pants as well. Dean grabbed a small backpack with added ammo for himself and the shotgun that was laying on the bed next to him, and headed out behind him.

They drove about twenty minutes out of town to a remote farmhouse that hadn't seen active farming in a decade or more. The full moon was only about five days away and they wanted to get this done before then. The pack had one member, that they knew of, that could shift at will. As far as Dean or his dad knew, the rest were bound to the lunar cycle. They needed to take the shifter out fast. The rest would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

They parked the Impala in a wooded patch of land about a mile out and hiked the rest of the way in. They crouched at some bushes at the edge of the property and scanned the area. After a moment, John nodded his head and motioned with his hand toward the back. Dean nodded and quietly made his way out and around to the back of the property. Once there he waited the set time of ten minutes before opening fire on the house. The waiting. This was the hardest part for Dean, but he knew he had to follow the plan to the letter or dad would have a fit.

When the time was up, Dean stood up, out of his cover and yelled to the house. "Hey! You pansy little puppies! Come on out and meet your fate!" Overly theatrical, maybe, but Dean didn't give a shit. He opened fire on the house. Shooting windows out with his shotgun. There followed immediate shouts and pounding feet from inside. Dean pulled his colt out and waited. After a moment he heard a couple shots from out front. Everything was going to plan and he grinned.

As he stood there, he noticed the backdoor slowly opening. One of the females was trying to creep out the back. Dean crouched down, quickly, and waited for a good shot. She paused and then ran down the back steps at a crouch. If she never stood up, Dean wouldn't get a clear shot. He brought the shotgun around and shot her with that. She was knocked off her feet by the blow. Dean ran quickly over, stepped on her shoulder and shot her in the heart with his colt. He brought his eyes up and scanned the back of the house. No one was following. Time to enter and make sure the place was clean.

As Dean slowly entered through the back door he heard another couple shots from out front. He slowly made his way through the ground floor, keeping an eye out for any of the pack. The kitchen was a nightmare of blood and … parts. Looks like they may have been in the process of preparing dinner. Or, rather, butchering dinner. Dean recognized a foot here and a hand there, but he didn't look for too long.

The door leading out of the kitchen was one that swung both ways. Having been taught by the best, Dean knew better than to push through it. He tucked his gun away and pulled the bowie knife. Strengthening his grip, he slowly grabbed the small handle on the door. After waiting a beat, he pulled the door open and was immediately jumped by one of the pack. The man rushed through the door, having been hiding on the other side, and shoved Dean up against the far wall. Dean drove the knife home and it was over before it started. As the man was sliding to the floor another man came in through the door. Dean readied his knife for a fight.

"Dean, it's me." John said. "I got three out front. You?"

Dean wiped his blade off on the shirt of the guy laying at his feet. "Two. That leaves one more." They looked at each other. John made a few motions with his hands. He would take the upstairs, Dean, the basement. They readied their weapons and split up. Dean found the door to the basement and eased it open. Wooden steps led down into the dark. Knowing the werewolves already knew they were there, Dean flicked the light switch, bathing the basement below in light. No sense in going down into the dark when he didn't need to.

After he took a few steps, he noticed there was some sort of sound coming from below. He paused and listened. Whimpering. There was definitely someone down here. Putting his back to the wall, he slid sideways down the steps as fast as he could go. The stairs were open and he didn't want anyone grabbing a foot from behind as he went. At the bottom were metal shelves with jars and boxes and all sorts of things that were covered in dust and cobwebs. In between the items he could see movement beyond. He gripped his knife and rounded the end of the shelves. On the floor against the far wall lay a man, gagged and bound, with another man crouched over him.

When Dean came around, the crouching man stood and spun around to face him. He looked to be about his father's size. This was Jacob, the leader of the pack, and also the one who could shift at will. He was in his werewolf form now; mouth full of teeth and his nails were long claws. His eyes were yellow in the light of the bare bulb hanging from the low ceiling. He circled with Dean and then rushed in, claws flailing. Dean swiped his blade out in front of him and put a gash into Jacob's shoulder, keeping him from clawing him. Jacob growled and barreled into Dean, driving him into the shelving units. The shelves toppled backwards into the stairs, contents flying everywhere. Jacob grabbed Dean by the throat and his wrist. He bashed his wrist a few times against the shelf, causing Dean to drop the knife.

"Who do you think you are, little man? Coming into my home? Killing my children!" Jacob spat into his face. Dean gasped for breath through Jacob's werewolf-strong grip on his throat. He couldn't even rip out one of his smart ass replies. Instead, as he struggled, he reached into the empty shelf space behind him with his left hand, trying to get a hold of his gun.

"I have half a mind to eat out your heart while you're still alive. Let you watch as I tear into your chest!" Jacob drooled onto Dean's cheek. Dean was beginning to see spots and knew he had to do something fast. He finally got a hand on his gun. He wasn't near as good a shot with his left hand, but this close, it shouldn't matter. He pulled it out, jammed it into Jacob's chest and fired. Blood splattered Dean's face and Jacob''s eyes flew wide. Jacob collapsed onto him and Dean just lay there, too out of breath to move. He pulled Jacob's hand away from his throat and gasped for air. Suddenly Jacob rolled off of him and Dean brought his gun around, eyes wide.

"Dean! Dean! Are you okay?" It was John. He made his way across the wreckage of the shelves and pulled Dean to his feet. He immediately started checking Dean's neck for any cuts or scratches. "You look good. Skin's not broken." He said, relieved.

"He didn't bite me, Dad. I just need some air." Dean bent over, resting his hands on his knees.

John went over to check on the man on the floor. He was still alive, but wounded. He looked back at Dean and Dean just shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea if Jacob had bitten the man or not. They freed the man and John took him outside. At the car, John settled the man into the backseat with a rag to hold to his wounds. Dean got some supplies out of the trunk.

"I need to get him to some medical attention. Meet you back at the hotel?" John said.

Dean quickly looked at him. "Seriously? Dad, it was twenty minutes by car!"

"I can't have our car anywhere near here when the authorities show up, you know that Dean." John got into the car and headed out to the local clinic with the injured man.

"Fuck this." Dean mumbled under his breath. He made his way back to the farmhouse. He dragged all the bodies into the kitchen. He then messed with the stove. Thankfully it was gas. He flicked a match onto a pile of towels on top of the stove and then ran out the back. After a moment the gas built up enough in the kitchen for the burning towels to set it off. The house went up in flames quickly. Dean took off into the woods, parallel to the road, and ran until he was out of breath. He came to a large boulder and sat down on it. His body ached and he was a mess. No one was going to pick him up looking like this. He sat and rested for a while and then went out to the road and started back for town.

About three hours later he got back to the motel. He walked right past his father, who was on his cell phone with someone, and into the shower. When he came out, his father was asleep. Sighing, he dropped into the other bed and was out cold in seconds.

xxxxx

The next day, John woke him with coffee and donuts from the motel office. "I was beginning to get worried about you last night? What took so long?"

"I took the scenic route." Dean groused. "Thanks for coming out and picking me up by the way."

John let Dean's complaint slide. "I was with the victim. The doctor said it looked like the skin on his arm was torn. They couldn't say whether it was a bite or not."

"That who you were on the phone with? The clinic?" Dean asked. He knew they would probably have to kill that poor sap.

"No. Caleb called. He has a case next state over and could really use our help." John hesitated.

"Dad. Someone has to..."

"I know. Caleb is going to swing by tonight and pick me up. You'll stay here and watch our vic. Full moon is only days away. If he shows any signs, you take him down. If he makes it through without any trouble, you can leave him and drive out to meet up with us." John said this as he started packing up his things. He handed a credit card to Dean. "I've already arranged for you to keep the room for the next five days. Use this whenever you check out."

Dean looked down at the card. Carlos Morales. "Dad, I ..."

"The vic's name is Walter Miller. Here's his details." John handed Dean a sheet of paper with his notes on it. The vic's home address, his place of employment. "Wally said he was going to take a day off work, so you should be able to find him at his home today."

There was no room for argument. John had set his plans into motion already in his head. At this point, it would be better for Dean to just do as he was told. He didn't have the energy for a fight. They seemed to do more of that lately. The longer Sammy was away at college, the more tense things seemed to get.

"Okay. Fine. Where do you want me to drop you? Or are you going to wait here?" Dean finally said, after looking over the vic's personal info.

"You can drop me at the library. I'm going to do some preliminary research of my own and Caleb will be picking me up there."

Dean grabbed some stuff and headed out to the car with his father, when he was ready. He drove them over to the town's local library. One good thing about this deal is Dean got to drive the car for a few days. It was a rare moment when John gave the keys up.

John got out of the car at the library, duffel bag in tow. "I'll call you when I find out where we'll be. Be careful, son."

"Piece of cake. I'll see you in a few." John headed up the steps and Dean headed out to Wally's place.

Dean spent the next three days tailing Walter. It wasn't hard. He was a single guy. He went to work each day, came home, ate dinner and sat in front of the tv until he went to bed. Three days of this. Dean almost hoped he was bitten, just to liven things up a bit.

On the fourth day, Walter changed things up a bit. That evening he headed out to a bowling alley. Dean should have guessed. He sat in the parking lot for about an hour and then went inside. Walter was with a group of guys, all drinking beer and laughing. Dean sat back at the bar and nursed his own beer and watched. The bowling became progressively worse as more beer was consumed. Dean couldn't see the attraction of bowling. What was the point?

Around midnight the group seemed to be breaking up for the night. Dean headed out to the car ahead of them. He started up the Impala and sat waiting. About ten minutes later the group exited the building. Dean glanced up into the sky. The moon was big and bright, lighting the surroundings well enough that one wouldn't need a flashlight to see. Walter had a buddy with him and they climbed into his pickup truck and headed out.

Dean followed at a discreet distance. Apparently Walter was just giving the guy a ride home. Dean parked in the street and watched. The guys laughed a bit in the truck and after a while, the buddy got out, waved back at Walter and went into the house. Walter, though, just sat in the truck. This didn't look good. Walter sat there for a while longer and then got out of his truck. He went up to the front door and knocked. Eventually his buddy came to the door and after a brief exchange let him in.

"No, no. No you didn't, Walter. You don't want to be doing this..." Dean said to himself as he gathered his gun and checked his knife before getting out of the car. Checking the surroundings and finding himself alone on the street, Dean quickly made his way over to the house. He peeked into the windows and found the men arguing in the living room. The buddy suddenly got a look on his face as if he was seeing something he couldn't believe. And turned and headed for the stairs in the other room. Walter turned to follow and Dean saw all he needed to see.

Dean got his knife out, not wanting to fire his gun in a residential area, and was opening the door when he heard, "No. Please...no..."

Walter had already attacked his buddy, who lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairwell. Dean rushed in and shoved Walter, knocking him into the table beyond, scattering it's contents all over the place. Walter recovered quickly and turned on Dean shoving him back against the wall at the base of the stairs. Walter turned and tried to go up the stairs and Dean slashed and stabbed at him several times with his knife. It slowed him down enough for Dean to grab him and fling him back down the stairs. Walter grabbed at Dean and they struggled and danced against the wall and across the floor. Dean, finding his knife hand held up by Walter, kneed him in the gut a few times. Walter let go, turned and ran out the front door, Dean following close on his heels. Dean tackled him to the ground in front of his truck and drove the blade home. "Nothing personal, Walter, but we can't have you out eating the neighbors, now, can we?" Dean said as he leaned his weight onto the butt of the knife. When the lights went out behind Walter's eyes, Dean hopped up to go check on the guy inside.

As Dean came around the corner to the base of the stairs, he found himself not alone. There, kneeling at the now lifeless body of his father, was a kid. Early teens, maybe, Dean guessed. He looked up at Dean and the accusation was plain on the kid's face. Dean panicked.

"Listen, kid.."

"You...you killed him?"

"No. Kid, I didn't do this. Listen ... I gotta go." The kid just stared bullets at him. "Don't follow me. Don't come after me or you're gonna get hurt, okay?" Dean didn't need some kid getting messed up with all this crazy shit like he had been. He and Sam were bad enough. At least Sam was able to get out of it. He turned and ran back to the truck. He hefted Walter up over his shoulder, took a brief look around and then headed to his car. He threw Walter into the trunk and headed out of town to take care of him.

The next morning he called his dad to let him know he was heading out. "Yeah, guy totally wolfed out. I took care of him, though. No problem."

"It all go okay? No issues? You weren't seen?" Dean knew his father was just double checking, but it was as if he had been there, looking over his shoulder.

"No, no issues. Nice tidy kill. Burned the body outside town and buried the remains. No problems." Dean said quickly, glad he was on the phone and not speaking to his father in person. He would know he was lying to him. "See you in about five hours." Dean hung up, pulled out of the gas station, and headed down the road, leaving Nyack, New York behind him.


End file.
